Michaela and Dorothy tried to maintain a rapid pace, but recent storms had left the road muddy and littered with fallen tree branches.  Frequently their progress was slowed as they were forced to gingerly negotiate their way around the more treacherous spots.

    When they had gone about a third of the way, Dorothy signaled to Michaela to rein in her horse.  "There's a mudslide about a quarter of a mile down the road," she said, as they drew their horses together.  "We'll have to go through the woods to pass."
 
    "Matthew, Marjorie and the children must have had to turn back and go around the long way," said Michaela.

    Dorothy nodded.  "It was Matthew who warned me about the slide before I left to fetch you," she confirmed.

    "How did you know about a path through the woods?" Michaela asked.   "I haven't heard of it before."

    "Cloud Dancin' showed me," Dorothy replied.  "When we rode back together from the Tongue River Valley, that was the path we took into town.  It's kinda rough goin', but it will get us there faster."

     Sully's parting words echoed in Michaela's mind:  Stay with the main road—don't take any short-cuts . . .   She felt a twinge of alarm.

     "Why didn't you tell me about this sooner, Dorothy?" she said sharply.

     Dorothy looked startled.  "I—I suppose I didn't think about it," she said apologetically.  "I guess my mind was so fixed on what happened in town, and comin' to ask you for help, it slipped my mind.  I'm sorry, Michaela."

     Michaela immediately felt ashamed of her outburst.  "No, I'm the one who's sorry, Dorothy.  I simply—wasn't expecting that we'd have to take a detour."

     "We can take the long way around if you'd rather," Dorothy offered.

     Michaela hesitated for a instant, then shook her head.  "No, you're quite right.  The route through the woods is quicker, and we've lost so much time already.

    "We'll go through the woods.," she said.  Sully's warning pricked at her again, but she tried to ignore it.  He's just on edge because of what happened in town, she thought to herself.  Within a half-hour we'll be safe at the clinic.  She pressed her heels into Flash's sides and the horse resumed trotting down the road.  Dorothy cantered along beside her.
 
    Roughly ten minutes later they reached the slide. Dorothy hadn't exaggerated.  The rains had loosened a muddy cascade of soil, small rocks and stones from the hillside on their left.  It surged across the road, creating an slick, impassable barrier.

    The women guided their mounts to the opposite side of the road, and up a slight grassy rise into the woods.  Dorothy took the lead as they forded their way through the trees.

    They progressed slowly, picking their way cautiously along the merest suggestion of a trail.  Frequently they were forced to duck their heads to avoid low-hanging branches, and the grasping brambles that clawed at their clothing.

    After what seemed an interminable time—though in reality was probably no more than minutes—the narrow path opened out into a clearing.  The women reined in their horses with relief, taking the opportunity for a few moment's rest, and a welcome drink from their canteens.

    Michaela breathed deeply of the crisp air, feeling the peace and serenity of her surroundings begin to soothe her troubled spirit.  Her eyes traveled around the clearing.  The light was more muted here, screened by the lattice of interlocking branches of the trees that rose up on all sides.  A soft carpet of old leaves littered the ground.  Scattered beams of sunlight penetrated the chinks in the forest ceiling to fall on the leaves, transforming their faded browns, dull reds and  pale yellows, to glowing jewels of russet, crimson and gold.

    The quiet was palpable. There was only the occasional chirp of a bird, or the call of a tree frog , to break the stillness.

      As the pervasive quality of the silence registered on Michaela's senses, she began to be aware of a feeling of "wrongness."  It was too quiet.  The bucolic beauty of the clearing, so innocuous on the surface,  seemed to be assuming an atmosphere of menace.  She looked up at the tangled canopy of branches.  Where before they had seemed to tower above her, now they seemed to be closing in, choking the clearing in an impenetrable web.

    Michaela felt an overwhelming urge to get out of this place; to escape its suffocating isolation.  Why she should suddenly feel this way, she had no idea.  There was no threat here—at least none that was visible.  And yet she knew absolutely that her intuition was sending her a warning she dare not ignore.

    She looked over at Dorothy.  Her friend appeared calm, apparently unaffected by the sense of foreboding that was blanketing Michaela more heavily with each passing moment.

    "Are you ready to go on?" she asked Dorothy, her voice sounding thin and harsh in the stillness.

    Dorothy noticed her friend's agitation.  She looked at Michaela closely.

    "Is somethin' wrong, Michaela?  You look pale—are you ill?"

    Michaela inhaled deeply, trying to slow the ragged pace of her breathing.   " I'm fine, " she lied.  "I just want to get to town to help Andrew, and make sure the children are all right."

    Dorothy's brows were still knit together in an expression of concern, but she accepted Michaela's answer without comment.

    "It's not much farther now," she said.  She pointed to a break in the trees on the opposite side of the clearing.  "We take that path for another few hundred yards, till it leads us  back to the main road into Colorado Springs."

    "Then let's go," Michaela urged, the panic nearly choking her now with its intensity.

    Just then Flash whinnied in alarm.  She tossed her head and stamped the ground restlessly.  Michaela had to hold tautly to the reins to stop the horse from backing into the trees behind them.  She thought the horse was simply reacting to her own anxiety, until she noticed that Dorothy's horse was also pawing the ground in agitation.

    "What is it?" Dorothy said to her nervously, holding tightly to her own reins and stroking her horse's neck in an effort to calm him.

    "I don't know," Michaela said breathlessly.  She looked around  frantically, trying to ascertain from which direction the danger would come, for her instincts were right—there was, indeed, danger here.
 
    Suddenly, off to the right, the sharp crack of a breaking tree branch smote the stillness, causing the horses to whinny in alarm.  Michaela's eyes swiveled to the source of the sound, just as a  man stepped out from the concealment of the trees, his shadow looming ominously before him.  He raised his arm, revealing a large pistol pointed in their direction.  Sunlight glinted off the barrel.

    "Don't move," he said.